Starstruck
by Frutee
Summary: Ciel Phantomhive, 13-year-old model, has a secret. Upstart model Alois Trancy has one as well. Before a Las Vegas photo shoot and later throughout their modeling experiences, Ciel makes it his job to lead Alois out of the darkness and Alois makes it his job to keep Ciel from experiencing it altogether. Modern-day AU.
1. 7 AM

**Disclaimer: Yana Toboso owns Kuroshitsuji.**

**(Warnings for this story: child abuse and language)**

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**7 A.M.**

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Everyday, at 7 A.M., the Phantomhive mansion is alive with the vibrant smells of half-charred eggs, tangy rashers of grilled bacon, and gingery potato cakes. The chef makes them as usual. He knows it's a busy day, so he sets his alarm clock to five and prepares everything by seven. He hates it, but it keeps him being fed and with a job.

He's always careful with the china set, lowering it from the high-shelved cabinet with his strong arms, breath like a tornado caught in his chest. He finally gets the china plates to safety, after what seems like a millennium, cleaned, stacked and all in a row, and he can breath again. He next sets out the silverware, glad that he can be less heedful of this, and then he checks the clock.

Seven o' five and not a minute more.

Ciel Phantomhive, a midnight-haired boy with striking blue eyes, the mansion's owner and VIP, flies down the stairs, struggling into his black jacket. His face is contorted in frustration while his teeth sink irritatedly into his bottom lip. He doesn't miss a step, and he moves swiftly past the kitchen table, grabbing up a plate of eggs, bacon, and potato cakes as he heads for the door.

The chef watches the boy as he turns right back around to retrieve his fork, which he had dropped on the floor in his haste.

"Where are you going today? Rome?"

"School."

"Oh?" Bard's voice is a sing-song note. "Your Aunt has actually convinced you to go _there_?" It was to go unspoken, but the boy's aunt, Angelina Durless, had taken charge of him once he lost his parents. For the longest, she had wanted to force her nephew out of the house to "make new friends, meet new people, and to finally 'settle down from work' maybe". To her dismay, Ciel had said that he was receiving a perfect education from his tutors, and that "new friends and new people" would all become a hassle to him.

Angelina being Angelina, had won the argument, but the fight had been long and hard, lasting for three whole years. At long last, she finally got the boy out of the house and enrolled into a private school in the outskirts of London. However, Ciel hadn't completely lost the fight; whenever he went to a photoshoot for a number of days, he'd have to bring tutors along.

"I'll be back by three, no later than four," Ciel responds, and offers Bard the fork to wash. "Make sure dinner is ready by then."

"Sure thing." And he returns the utensil to the boy's small hands.

* * *

The school is large like everything else in London. The halls are long like all hallways in London. And the place is clean, like every other place Ciel has been to. The tiled floors are made of marble, and the air smells like Febreeze or some other homely product. The windows are so clear you can see tens of thousands of reflections through them from a mile away, and the lockers are so grey elephants are put to shame.

Ciel oozes through the doorway and slips through the crowds as easily as liquid. He knows how to because that's the way it's done when he has to walk into the agency building on Friday nights. He quickly finds his locker and begins to undo the combination when the sounds of shuffling fabric are heard behind him and he turns.

A girl with buttery hair and newly-dewed-grass-colored eyes is behind him. Her mouth is slicked back into a smile, her books are crowded under her arm. She's a bit taller than him. Her hair is laced with bows and strings and ribbons, and her cheeks are lightly dusted with affection.

"Hi there! I'm Elizabeth... I... I couldn't help but notice... you must be..." she pauses, looking him up and down. She has a finger under her chin, as if it will help her think harder, until she snaps, and her mouth becomes an 'O'.

"Ciel Phantomhive!"

And the world erupts.

Heads turn so fast Ciel is surprised they don't snap back like rubber bands. Eyes grow wide, mouthes drop open, fingers are pointed, and a whole vicious sea of multicolored eyes are staring at him. One kid yells, "Where?" another shouts "He's there!" another hastily adds, "By the locker! By locker 1214!"

And, like bees and honey, there is a swarm, surrounding him, calling him, asking him questions, touching him. One even goes so far to say, "Can I have your number?"

He feels suffocated, but he's used to the feeling of bodies pressed against him, fingers rubbing against him, and voices hitting his face and his ears. He blinks his only visible eye, looking over the million heads to try and pilot a way from around the wall of swarming warmth and excitement.

He spots another boy instead.

He's blonde, one hand is on his hip while the other clutches a laptop bag. A smile is smoothed against his face, sitting perfectly still like an unwrinkled blanket, and his eyes are cut crystals, eyeing him and only him.

He scrutinizes Ciel for a bit before he brings his unoccupied fist to his mouth and coughs.

And the world regains control again.

That one cough, as if it were a trigger, sends the hallways into silence, and every head is turned towards this beautiful blonde boy.

There is a longer silence, and Ciel begins to wonder if the world has stopped. Has everything stopped moving? Has time stopped? Has the earth's rotation cut off? He glances around, the lustre of his sapphire eye increases tenfold with his confusion.

Elizabeth jumps and squeals and says, "Alois Trancy!" And the crowd leaves Ciel to swarm on another sweet treat. The name is unfamiliar, and Ciel's confusion sits still for a minute. He stares at Alois, and Alois, even though surrounded by thousands of buzzing bees, has only eyes for him.

Ciel makes his way over to the area and says, "Who's Alois Trancy?" to no one in particular, but Elizabeth perks up and answers, "A new and upcoming model!"

"New? ...Upcoming?" Ciel repeats, and Alois seems to know he is talking to him. He pushes past the bees in a flourish and walks over to Ciel, his arrogance hanging above the midnight-haired boy like a guillotine blade.

"My my, and you must be Ciel Phantomhive."

"Yes."

"Nice to meet you. I look forward to working with you."

_'Lies'_, Ciel's mind screams, '_Nothing but lies'_. This boy's eyes aren't genuine. They aren't welcoming. They swarm with an egoistic haze that Ciel has seen before and despises.

He's seen it in his own eyes.

Alois holds his hand out to Ciel, and for the sake of all that are watching, Ciel accepts it. The two shake hands, and Ciel notices Alois' hands are warm. He inspects the boy meticulously and walks closer, keeping their hands together the whole time.

Alois smells pleasant, like cherries and honey, and all of his features are soft and beautiful.

They let go.

"I'll see you around, Ciel," Alois says, shooting him a smirk. Ciel only offers a nod.

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First fanfic here~ Thanks for reading till the end of this chapter! Not very eventful, but it's just exposition. _Please, please, please_ critique. Would you like to read more? All ideas and suggestions are welcome.


	2. Afternoon

Thank you all for the reviews and critique. I will try to take them all into account! Here's to chapter two:

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**Afternoon**

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Ciel's cellphone is the most important item in the world to him. It had been a birthday present he received a few years ago from Aunt Angelina, a little while after he had started his modeling career. Everyday the phone's screen, front, and back is cleaned (with special attention given to the screen), the case is cleared of any dust or dirt that may have miraculously gotten into it, and the plastic covering over the screen is adjusted whether or not it needs adjusting.

He never lets the battery run lower than 89% charged, and when it's time for bed, he'll leave the phone on his nightstand, wrapped in a cloth, placed in its box with a rectangular cut in the bottom so the cord can fit through and charge all night.

Unlike most teenagers Ciel knows, he leaves his phone mostly devoid of any evidence that it belongs to someone. The wallpaper and ringtone are left at default, there are never any saved voicemails or texts, and the application icons have never been moved.

Though there are the games...

Many games are downloaded onto his phone, and he usually plays them on the way to a photo shoot. Sometimes he buys and downloads them as an award for the accomplishment of a certain shoot. Sometimes he buys two a week, maybe three, and once he masters all the levels, if it's a good game, he'll play it once more, or he'll delete it and look for another game to download.

He carries his cellphone everywhere; never leaves home without it. And Ciel is carrying his cellphone as he walks to the agency building after school that day, too.

The silver trinket is stuffed into his pocket so the rain won't damage it while one hand is keeping the pocket closed. He walks briskly down the sidewalk, shielding his face with his other arm, squinting through the onslaught of droplets and maneuvering the best he can. The water is already seeping through his clothes and sprinkling the back of his neck. _Oh great, I should have brought an umbrella_, he thinks.

Still clad in his school uniform, he enters the large, airy agency building, now straight-faced and rigid. He walks past the secretary, and notices its Irene today at the desk. _That's right, it's Tuesday_, he reminds himself, as he gives her nod as a greeting. She nods back and smiles softly; her mannerisms are worthy of being a secretary, but her face looks like a beauty pageant winner's.

He walks towards the back rooms of the agency, the area where he usually goes after school, and stops inside the 'Inspection Room−' a vast space that almost looks like it could pass for a ballet study. The wall is made of pale, polished drywall, the windows are lined with black sills, covered in curtains, and there's even a barre in the corner, though Ciel has no idea what it's used for.

Already inside the room waiting for him is his makeup artist (and also somewhat of a personal trainer), Francis Midford. A serious, calculating, all-business woman, with a strict tongue and judgmental eyes, a tight blonde ponytail-bun with a curl dangling down the left side of her face. She stands in the middle of the floor, checking her wristwatch, dressed in one of her two-piece business suits and heels.

She sees him and her face crumbles into a signature glare; she gives him a once over before indicating for him to come closer.

Ciel drops his bag to the ground and walks over to her, and before he can even blink, he finds himself being wrestled out of his blazer and dress shirt and placed onto a scale.

"You're late," Francis says; her eyes never leave the scale's screen. She pets down Ciel's locks of unruly, drizzled hair, layering some locks under others and smoothing them all in line on top his head. "Five minutes late. This is the third time."

"The bell rang late and I was being followed," Ciel grumbles in response, trying not to let Francis see he's shivering. The water that had clung to his neck is now dripping down his chest, rolling over his skin. He feels a tingle in his cheeks when she looks up at him and stares him straight in the face with her lowered eyebrows.

"Followed by who?"

"The student body."

"You finally gave in to Angelina's proposal?"

He says nothing because he has no time to say anything− the numbers on the scale stop flickering and they freeze.

Francis lifts her glare back onto him like a laser, only, its more intense this time, and Ciel steels himself in an instant for chastisement.

"You gained weight," she says in a low voice. "What have you been eating?"

Ciel steps off the scale and replaces his dress shirt before answering, "My chef made a large breakfast today and−"

"You _know_ you have to keep a precise weight, Ciel."

He flounders for a bit with his words, going through all of the possible things he could say in his own defense. Nothing reaches his mind's surface. Nothing that he wouldn't be shot down for saying. Nothing that wouldn't produce some kind of argument between the two of them.

There's a lapse of silence for a minute before Francis holds out her hand and orders, "Give me your phone." Ciel knows where this is going.

Hesitating for only a second, his hands levitate over his pocket for a moment before they reach in, clasp the phone, and place it into her outstretched palm. She, in turn, places it into her pocket, turns on her heels and says, "You'll get this back at the end of the week."

Ciel stays silent.

Another presence appears at the entrance just then, and Ciel sees his agent standing in the doorway (well, it would be a doorway if the room had a door) before walking in, all smiles, as per usual.

"Good evening, Mrs. Midford," he says brightly in her direction. She responds with a nod towards him, gaze unwavering, lip locked in tightness as she peruses him as well. She gives that look to everyone, most likely scrutinizing them and writing up a mental list of all of their faults and defects. And maybe she even creates lists of how makeup or exercise might fix a blemish here or banish a bit of fat there.

He then directs his attention directly on Ciel. "Hello Ciel. Are you doing well?"

"Fine, Sebastian," Ciel answers tersely. He makes sure his voice is vacant of stress, or disappointment even though he feels a mix of these things now. He reaches down then for his backpack, undoing the zipper before he places his navy blazer, which had just been clumped together in a pile in his arms, laden with raindrops, into the bag.

"Such terrible weather we're having. I hope it will let up before the next assignment," Sebastian says in mock worry, though his voice is lined with a slight tone of mirth that Ciel knows all too well.

"What assignment?" Ciel asks, and he finds himself being motioned over for the second time that day. He follows Sebastian out the 'Inspection Room' and into the man's office, standing a moment in the doorway before entering the room.

"There's a new assignment taking place in Los Vegas for a magazine," Sebastian says, and Ciel sees him watching him as he makes himself a seat near Sebastian's desk. "They've asked you to model a pirate costume for a Halloween spread."

"Halloween? That's weeks away."

"It's a release for their October issue."

"A spread?"

"Well, actually, you'll be on the cover."

Ciel tweaks his eyebrow skeptically, but Sebastian only flashes him his feline-esque smirk.

"You got me on the cover?"

"Of course; only the best jobs for my client. It's a well-paying assignment." Sebastian is a good agent, and he has been for the years that Ciel's been modeling. He's professional, puts his time to good use, and is much more organized than any one else Ciel knows. Though sometimes he's brutal− when he books two local assignments in a week.

Ciel rungs a hand through his hair, and immediately begins thinking of the tutor he'll have to bring, how long he'll be away, the plane ride and what he'll bring to keep himself occupied, the signed note he's going to have to give his teachers to explain his absence− darn, and the school year had just started, too...

"It'll be a collaboration photo-shoot," Sebastian continues, flipping through a file labeled 'Los Vegas'. There are only about two pages in the file, Ciel sees, yet Sebastian keeps flipping back and forth between the two pages as if he's double checking information.

"Who will I be working with?"

"He's fairly new, but very popular. Alois Trancy, I believe, is his name."

Ciel pauses, feeling almost as if all the air has been knocked out of him. The boy he had met that day in the hallway was to be his co-worker. The boy with the large fanbase, and the blue eyes, and the blonde hair, and the boy that smelled of cherries and honey. _That_ Alois Trancy...

"I suppose that would be fine," Ciel says as he eases back in his chair, resting his back against the cushion and closing his eyes for only a split second. His bangs fall into his eyes from the movement, though he doesn't bother to brush them away just yet. They shade out almost all the light that lay on his closed eyes.

"It will only take a few days. If everything works out, we might be finished early, and will be back in England before five days have passed." Sebastian stands up, and Ciel takes that as a signal to do the same and follow him out of the room.

* * *

Just like Ciel Phantomhive, Alois Trancy also visits his agency after school. The agency building is rather drab and somber on the outside, and Alois knows that he would forget about it in a week if he didn't patronize it as often as he does. The building is black, rectangular-shaped, and in fairly good-shape. Not a single window is cracked or smudged, and the swinging doors are nothing to complain about.

Alois walks in and the air conditioning hits him instantly. He is far more pleased by the interior than the exterior. Inside the building is sleek and jazzy, casual, and doesn't smell like Spring & Renewal Febreze. The wallpaper, though it has no eye-catching pattern or design, is creme-colored and fits the room perfectly. The rugs are wine-red, fuzzy and soft− '_Probably woven cotton'_, Alois thinks.

The first room is the lobby. To the right is the receptionist desk, made of some kind of dark brown wood. Behind the sides of the desk, there's a computer and an empty swivel chair, flanked by two evergreen, potted houseplants that Alois is sure are already dead, if he could get a better look at them. To the left is the soda vending machine, the neon red screen spewed the color red everywhere throughout the room. In the centre of the lobby is a narrow hallway, leading to the offices of the employees on either side of the aisle.

Alois' favorite spot is by the door: an upholstered, two-seater settee, placed near a circular side-table.

He takes a seat, and he is torn between feeling happy or sad that he is alone in the lobby. No sooner had he been released from school had he changed from his school uniform into his black-and-white striped shirt with tie, grey jacket, black leggings, and sneakers. He lays against one of the headrests, sprawled all the way out so he can look at his fairly clean sneakers. From his jacket pocket, he produces a dark blue Poptart packet that he bought from the school's vending machine. After ripping it open with zero effort, he begins nibbling away the breaded part.

The Poptart is strawberry-flavored, plain, yes, but Alois loves strawberry. The breaded part is the worst to get through, and Alois usually picks it off and throws it away, but lunch had seemed like forever ago, so he decided to just eat through it anyway.

The side-table nearby the settee is loaded down with dozens of magazines filled with snap shots and glossy pictures of some of the other models that the agency hired. Alois flips through each of them boredly, searching for only one magazine in particular. He finds it under the heap and pulls it onto his lap. Posing on the front cover is a version of himself that he barely recognizes, but he remembers the shoot in its entirety. It had taken place in Oxford, and had been his debut. The few shots they took had been published in the Japanese-British fashion magazine _'Confession'_, and had launched his career, promptly making him famous in England.

The picture featured him sitting on a _futon _mat in front of a white tea set, dressed in an oversized scarlet kimono with cobwebs and golden-purple butterflies inlayed in the design. Alois remembers quite clearly that the photographer and the director of the shoots promised him that if the shoot was successful without any interruptions or problems, he could take the beautiful kimono home. Now that kimono is hung in the closet, and Alois never wears it unless his stepdad makes him.

Alois shuffles the magazine to the top of the pile, then settles to take another bite of his treat−until it is swiftly snatched from his grasp. Alois leans his head upwards so he can look at whomever is behind him.

He first notices the slanted eyes of golden, then the drooping, ebony bangs, then the glossy, lenses of glasses, all belonging to his agent.

There's a quick bullet of ecstasy that warms in Alois' stomach as he sits up, turning to face Claude, flashing his winsome smile. But Claude is as emotionless as always, stoney-faced. His mouth is in a straight line as always, and his eyes are fixated on Alois. Alois eats up the attention.

"You know you're not supposed to be eating stuff like this," Claude says, and without a single glance back, he tosses the packet into the stainless steel garbage can behind him with a _plop_. Alois watches for a second as the trash can lid tumbles over and over itself, then beams at Claude.

"I've been following your calorie diet for two weeks straight; I think I deserve some kind of reward."

Claude watches Alois' smiling face with his usual solemn stare, and Alois feels the slight prickle of irritation in the back of his head. _'You're supposed to be _proud_ of that', _Alois thinks, _'You're supposed to compliment me on that. Instead you give me that impassive face like you always do. Screw you, Claude'. _He is unaware that his face is losing its shine and that the corners of his lips are collapsing to a slack.

"You have to look your best for the upcoming shoot," Claude monotones, and he turns on his heels and heads off down the aisle to where the offices are hidden.

_Swish_; another bullet is shot through Alois' system, and he brightens as excitement overcomes him. "Another shoot?" he asks, "Where? Is it out of the country?" If Claude says yes, Alois will be so happy he will do cartwheels in the middle of the street, even though it's raining. If Claude says no, Alois will kick cars instead. Anywhere is better than being in the house with his stepdad.

Alois steps off the couch, adjusts his jacket and chases after Claude into the darkened hallway to catch his reply.

"We're going to America; Los Vegas," he says, and Alois thinks he'll burst. They turn and enter Claude's office.

It's a clean, dainty little office, with locked filing cabinets, a desk filled with stacks of papers, manilla folders, and paperclips, and a chair that Alois almost uses as a coatrack. Claude picks up one of the folders, flips it open and pulls out of a file filled with black ink words.

"This is the document containing information about the request." He hands the paper to Alois, who greedily eats up all the words with his eyes. Unfortunately, the paper is none too interesting, stating the location, time, photographer, and other information he doesn't necessarily _care_ about. All he needs to know is that he's over a thousand miles away from home. That's all he cares to know.

At least, Alois would like to think that. Claude rounds the chair, gathering up the other folders and stacking them neatly, saying almost conversationally, "It's a collaboration shoot."

Alois almost doesn't hear him. He's busy planning how many days he might be away from home. But he does hear Claude, and he looks up from the document, blonde hair falling into his wide blue eyes. "What's a collaboration shoot?"

"A photo shoot where you'll be posing with someone else. You'll be on the cover again."

Excitement bubbles in Alois' stomach. He breaks into a smile at this thought and stands up, the paper crinkling beneath his fingers from how tightly he's gripping it.

"Oh? Who will I be posing with?"

"Ciel Phantomhive."

Alois giggles. He almost doubles over in laughter from the rush of excitement. That boy with the blue eye he had seen just that morning. That mysterious, pale boy that Alois felt almost compelled to examine and learn all there was to know about him. He interested Alois from just one glance, much more than anyone else could have. That boy harbored some secret, some kind of personal story that Alois thought might be fun to hear about. There was some kind of secret Alois felt compelled to divulge.

"When will we be leaving?"

"Three days from now− Friday evening. I'll pick you up at five." And with that, Claude turns around and exits his office. Alois follows, still clutching the paper in his hands. He shuffles all the way to the exit in the lobby to find it's pouring again. He'll get his clothes wet, but he doesn't care. He tells Claude 'bye', to which the man only nods back. Turning around, he shoves the paper into his pocket and leaves, wondering what it would be like to do cartwheels in the rain.

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Critique and suggestions for the second chapter would also be appreciated. Thanks for reading.


	3. 6 AM

Thank you for all the reviews and critique. I appreciate and would love to receive more. Also, warnings for this story have been added to the first chapter.

Here's chapter three this time; please enjoy.

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**6 A.M.**

* * *

London Heathrow Airport explodes with life, especially at five in the morning.

Ciel arrives at the airport dragging along his navy-blue trolley case– the one he always uses when he leaves England. He's wearing his tan-coloured bucket hat, a blue shirt that exposes his collarbones, a black waistcoat, gray shorts, and black sandals. Aunt Angelina had picked out his clothing that morning, and she obviously didn't know how cold the airport could be.

_Every air conditioner they own is probably on full-blast, yet I look like I just came from a casual walk on the beach_, Ciel thinks, ignoring the goose bumps on his arms.

He verges off to the left of the automatic doors, off towards the arrival and departure screens, just to take a quick look at them before going to check in.

He's supposed to meet Sebastian and Francis on the other side of Terminal Five.

Standing in the midst of the tiled floors, he stops for a few seconds and stares up at the flight schedules. His eyes scan each flight, picking apart each of them, trying to decide where his plane is. Among the flurries of numbers and letters, one flight will land in Japan, another in Spain, and another in Germany. He's never been to any of those places; he's never gone abroad in the 'true sense.'

Once his eyes spy the 6:00 flight he's looking for, he sees it's on time, and he can sigh in relief. It will stop in Colorado for an hour layover, then, it will head straight for Las Vegas, Nevada.

He surveys the flight schedule for a few seconds more, not necessarily looking for anything, but only looking because he still feels tired. There are people all around, shuffling around him, clunking their own noisy luggage cases along. Thus far, nobody has recognized him, everybody is too engrossed in their own flights.

Ciel stares into the flight schedule until he's not even reading it anymore. His eyes have glazed over, and for a moment he falls asleep dead on his feet. He had been packing all night, and now the effects were catching up to him. _Perfect_.

A person's luggage snaps loudly against a crack in the tiles and rouses him awake. He sways slightly; his legs are crumbling towers, but only for a moment. He catches himself, braces his body on his own trolley case.

"I'd better check in," he says, as he runs the back of his palm underneath the eye uncovered by his bangs. He just wants to wipe the few dustings of sleep from his eyes. Just a few.

His eye alights on the navy and dark gray check-in service counters that stand clustered all over the area. A sparse few people are spread around them, checking in, murmuring to themselves, getting their things, leaving only to get whipped back into the rushed current of nameless faces.

Ciel decides to join them. He places one finger against the touchscreen. The screen freezes up for a moment, then moves on to the questions. He types in his identification, then prints his ticket. It's a thin, yellow piece of paper, coated in black ink. He double-checks it and reads his name, his flight times, and his seating arrangements.

Tucking the ticket into his pocket, he drags his trolley case to the front where they're taking bags to board. The conveyor belt is being staffed by a hardened-looking, grizzly man. His eyes are light teal, and Ciel takes notice of his tanned biceps bulging beneath his uniform. He smiles nonetheless and bids Ciel good morning with his extremely thick Cockney accent.

_Probably a smoker,_ Ciel figures, noticing the deep creases lining the man's mouth, but he ignores his thoughts, nods the man a good morning and offers over his trolley case. It takes a moment for the man to register the bag, but when he does he nods to Ciel.

"It's all sorted out now," he replies, though 'sorted' sounds more like 'sore-id.' "'Ave a good flight, mate."

Ciel offers only a nod because he feels too tired to speak. Then, he turns and leaves with his ticket, passport, identification papers, iPod, asthma medicine, and two books of the Sherlock Holmes series. He passes through the alleyways flanked by check-in counters, and empties into terminal territory.

The ceiling's much higher and the area seems ten-times more spacious. Everything seems louder. Ciel drifts through the crowds like a feather. He follows the signs on the walls until he finds the security checkpoint– his least favorite part of the whole journey.

He falls into line behind a man in a plaid raincoat and in front of a woman with tangly red-hair and her freckled child. He removes two of the blue bins from the pile, hesitates, then decides all his things can fit in just one bin. So he offers the extra bin to the woman behind him, hoping that by showing her kindness she'll keep her shrill-voiced child from poking his fingers through Ciel's pockets. She smiles gratefully at him.

He slips off his sandals, bare feet touching the freezing tile, then drops the bin on the metal railings. He drops his hat and his shoes inside, then he empties his pockets. Ciel notices the man dressed in plaid is fast, as he's already scooting through the X-ray machine. Ciel picks up his own pace, sliding the bin across the railings up to the short black curtains. Behind him, he can hear the freckled child smacking loudly on bubble gum. _Smack, smack, smack._ He isn't quite irritated by the noise yet.

He slides his bin through the curtains, keeping his eye on it the whole time as he walks through the X-ray machine. The woman staffing the X-ray machine motions for him to come forward. He complies. He notices her hair is a similar colour to the mother behind him, only the security woman hair isn't as fiery. She motions for him to stop with a stiff hand. After a second or so, she motions for Ciel to come through and thanks him.

Ciel picks up his things, pocketing the things that can be pocketed and shoving the books under his arms. He slips his shoes on, then heads to find Terminal Five's gates.

As he walks, he takes in all the shoppes. There's a store called _Boots_, and another called _Excess Baggage Company_. He considers going into the luxurious _Bvlgari_, but he'd be better off finding his gate first. That, and he just wants to sit and shut his eyes.

The gates are spread far, far away from each other, labeled with either 'A,' 'B,' or 'C.' After picking through the crowds of blurred people, he finds Gate B. Most of the seats are filled with people tinkering with their cellphones and tablets or being immersed in the glow from their laptop screens.

Ciel sighs, then walks among them. He picks his way to the overflow seating area, away from most of the people hooked up to the power outlets. He sits in one of the square, green chairs. Fortunately, the two next to him are empty. He doesn't want to be bothered.

He would take out his cellphone to play a game, but when he reaches his hand in his pocket he remembers that Francis took it. His fingers brush against nothing but cotton. He lays his head back as far as it will go, his eyes opening and closing, opening and closing. They feel like sandbags, stiff.

In one of the short moments that his eyes are closed, he hears a shuffle of fabric and his name being called. _Sebastian's voice._ He recognizes the tone and opens his eyes, but only so much as slits. He sees the world through cracks. He sees Sebastian's face, his scarlet eyes, through a sliver in the world. His agent's smiling as usual.

"We've been awaiting your arrival."

"Has Alois arrived yet?" Ciel asks. He's re-closed his eyes, though he's well-aware that Sebastian is now taking a seat in the empty chair next to him.

"Not yet, but he won't be long."

"How many minutes till boarding?"

"Fifteen."

Ciel wavers between being awake and asleep. He's now thinking of useless things, filling his mind with the sounds of squeaking luggage cases, fast chatter, and the _clicks_ of laptop keyboards.

"I'll be certain to wake you up when we're called," Sebastian says. Ciel can hear the mirth in his voice as usual, and he only nods because he doesn't want to speak anymore. The last thing he hears is the sound of a rolling suitcase and a kid shouting. The voice is of hazy familiarity.

"Mum, Mum, my seat is F-17!"

It turns out the freckled kid is sitting behind him, but Ciel's too sleep-deprived to care. He just wants to shut his eyes.

* * *

"About thirty-three pounds make fifty-two American dollars." Alois stands in front of the money exchange counter, dropping the spare American coins into his outstretched palm. It will all be going towards souvenirs. Not the dinky kind– like coloured mugs and key chains with his name on them. (He highly doubted he'd find his name on one of them anyway, unless he looked for the name Jim. But there was no way he was going to parade around with anything that had his dull real name on it.)

He isn't exactly sure what he's going to buy. What was Las Vegas famous for aside from casinos, nightclubs, and alcohol? _All of which are off-limits_, he recalls bitterly.

He pockets the cash in his black pants. A dumb move, yes, but the airport is crawling with security guards. _Let's hope they do their job, _Alois thinks and can't help but smile at the thought.

"Are you ready yet?" Claude asks. The man has been standing, feet together, like an army officer the whole time. Alois' almost reminded of a dog, waiting for their owner to return. His smile widens.

"Why are you in such a hurry? We've already gone through baggage check-in. Besides, I'm hungry."

"We still need to go through security," the man glances down at his wristwatch. "There are thirty minutes until we board."

"That's plenty of time to look around," Alois says, waving his hand. He really doesn't know anything about airport schedules since he never really pays any attention. But, evidently, thirty minutes is like saying five minutes. At least, to Claude. Prompt and tidy and punctual Claude.

But since Claude was so nice and carried his bags for him, Alois decides not to cause too much trouble and complies. Claude leads the way to the security check-in quickly, as if he goes to the airport every day. They drop into line and are prompted by the signs to place all their belongings into the bins and to remove their shoes.

Alois' standing behind an African-American woman who is speaking to one of the officers. Her accent is pleasant, and from the glimpses he catches of her face, she's gorgeous.

She's wearing a black winter coat that Alois can't help but feel envious of. It has a nice glossy texture and smooth inky buttons. But she probably wears it better anyway. He doesn't like to wear black other than his pants.

She walks through the X-ray machine and Alois can smell her perfume. A strong scent, but not overpowering. He watches as she goes through the X-ray, then he follows her. The officer that's directing him motions him through once he's been scanned.

When he's motioned through, he collects his things from the blue bins: his cellphone, identification papers, pocketbook. As his fingers brush against the cellphone, he wonders if Claude is really so observant. What if he were to leave the phone? Would Claude notice? He decides to try it out and leaves the phone in the bin. A stupid move, yes, but he wants to know if Claude really is as hawk-eyed as Alois believes he is. He walks to the opposite side of the X-ray generator to wait for Claude while slipping on his shoes.

When Claude stands in the X-ray, Alois can't help but laugh. He looks strange standing with his arms spread out, almost like he's playing a child's game with the officer. Monkey See, Monkey Do. But his face isn't exuberant like a child's at all. His face and tone are always the same– solemn and sombre, unchanging. Alois thinks that Claude would have that tone no matter what happened. The same tone and the same impassive face no matter what. He entertains the thought of Claude getting hit in the face with a soccer ball and not even flinching.

Claude passes through the machine and meets up with him. He's already slipped back on his shoes and has collected his belongings from the bins. Alois wonders if he's noticed the phone.

"You left this in one of the bins," Claude responds, and offers over Alois' cellphone. "Don't lose sight of it."

_Shoot, _Alois thinks, _there's no fooling him. _He pockets the phone after nodding innocently in agreement. But then he grabs onto Claude's arm and points.

"Look, Starbucks. Let's go there and get breakfast."

"We should be going to the gate; we'll be boarding soon," Claude counters, his glasses gleaming. But Alois ignores him.

"I'm hungry and it'll only take a second." Alois rushes off towards Starbucks anyway. He knows Claude will follow whether he believes in going to Starbucks or not. He again thinks of Claude's obedience like that of a dog's.

When they get inside Starbucks, Alois immediately points out one of the bagels in the window. "I want that." He waits for Claude's response, because he knows all too well that Claude will tell him...

"You need to watch what you eat."

"It's only ten calories from fat," Alois responds and orders it anyway. Claude settles for black coffee.

When they leave Starbucks, Alois notices the _Chocolate Box_ and turns towards Claude. "We should go there next– just for a second." He tacks on the last part quickly because Claude's staring down at him. It's strange, because Claude's face seems to never change, yet Alois feels as if he's irritated now.

"It's just one more place," he replies, adding a tone of pleading to his response. "How much time do we have left?"

Claude checks his watch again. "Fifteen minutes."

"That's, like, half an hour. We have enough time."

"No. Fifteen minutes is like fifteen minutes."

Alois looks around and finds the overhead directories. Their gate is about a three minute walk, maybe two if they were to run.

"We're already near our gate. It won't take long. Just give me five minutes."

Claude stares at Alois for a moment. His eyes are unmoving, bleak, cold as they always are, and for a minute Alois thinks he's mad. But when he opens his mouth and confirms, "Five minutes," Alois smiles and rushes towards the store with the chocolate waterfalls flanking the entrance.

He amuses himself by picking up the teddy bears with chocolate bars attached to their backs and the packets of hot chocolate. But it doesn't take long for him to decide that he just wants a bar of plain milk chocolate. After he purchases it, he rips it open and begins to nibble on the edge.

"You shouldn't be eating chocolate so early," Claude responds. He eyes the chocolate, almost as if it's some sort of enemy. "There are too many calories."

"I'll only eat one square," Alois says, and shrugs it off. He hasn't told Claude, but he's celebrating. Celebrating leaving the country. He's leaving _England_, and that's all he wants. As he eats through the square of smooth chocolate, he watches his feet, mapping each step he takes.

It doesn't take long for them to reach the gate, as expected, and Alois can't help but smile at Claude as if to say _told you so._ Claude notices the look, but only fixes his glasses to respond. They both take a seat near the boarding entrance. Alois notices that it's 5:58– two minutes to spare.

He lays across three chairs, not caring when Claude stares at him. He lays his head against the uncomfortable arm of the chair and prepares to wait. He can smell Claude's coffee from where he sits. It makes him think– plain black coffee is very fitting for Claude. Drab, bitter, and sharp.

"Did you remember to bring your passport?" he asks, placing his shoulder bag on the seat beside him.

"Of course," Alois responds and flashes him his passport picture as proof.

"Is there anything else you need?"

"No, I don't think so."

Alois sits still a moment more in silence before he catches Claude's eye. He follows his gaze across the seating area to that of a strong and broad-shoulder man clad in black. This man has eyes like garnets. He's quite handsome, and Alois guesses he might be some kind of model or superstar or something. But his mind stops when he notices the boy sleeping beside him.

And he can't help but grin.

"That's my colleague, right?" Alois asks and stretches so he isn't lying down anymore. "Ciel Phantomhive... and his agent."

"Yes," Claude responds, all too suddenly. "Sebastian Michaelis."

Alois snickers. "That's a dumb name. Michaelis?" He sounds out the word in his head a few times. It sounds foreign almost. But he begins to think of something else as his eyes wander off even further to the right.

"And what about her? Who's that blonde woman?"

"I'm assuming that's the make-up artist."

Alois clicks his tongue as he peruses the woman. She's dressed all in dark colours, blacks and grays, and her sandy hair is tied in a sleek bun. There's one loose fringe that hands down near her eyes. Even with three rows of chairs between them, Alois can see her eyes are stabbing. The way she's sitting makes her seem dignified: both hands folded onto her lap, knees bent at the perfect angle, feet aligned, but Alois thinks she looks like a bulldog.

The intercom crackles and a woman's voice says that their flight is now boarding.

Everyone in the area rises, shuffling, scratching, chattering. Claude stands up too and Alois follows him, glancing across the room. Sebastian is still seated. He's bending over towards Ciel, shaking him gently by the shoulder, his mouth moving in words that Alois can't hear.

The boy's eye slowly opens, a sapphire window. He rubs at his eyes, reminding Alois of a child. But as Alois continues to watch him, he can't help but notice the other eye– the one that's covered. It appears to be concealed with an eyepatch, and from what Alois can remember, it was the same one Ciel had worn since they had first met at school.

Before Alois can think a bit more on it, Ciel turns towards him. Their eyes meet again.

Ciel tenses. His eyes fall into an icy glare. He scowls.

Alois follows Claude, but looks over every few moments to see Ciel's party of three following behind. The third time Alois turns, Ciel's right beside him, taking him by surprise.

"Where were you?" Ciel asks, trying and failing to keep some kind of ire out of his voice. "We were here waiting for you. Sebastian informed me you didn't show up until a little after a quarter to six."

"What do you care, Sleeping Beauty? I still showed up."

"You can't be late to a shoot. I can't tolerate that."

"Well, aren't you arrogant. Take that stick out of your butt, Ciel, we're co-workers now." Alois smiles his most sugarcoated smile at him. "Let's work together, if only for this shoot, okay?"

Ciel doesn't appreciate the insult; Alois obviously doesn't care. The two board the plane and move all the way to their designated seats. One on the left of the aisle, the other on the right.

"Fair enough," Ciel replies, taking a seat across the aisle from Alois.

Alois smiles back even wider as he takes his own seat. "I'm glad we now see eye-to-eye."


	4. Sundown

I actually wrote the majority of this chapter last August (yikes) and just finished it today, a year later, in July. It's shorter than I anticipated, but I really wanted to get it out tonight. Please excuse me if the writing style changes near the end. Thanks for hanging in there! I appreciate it.

Here's to chapter four– please enjoy! And remember, reviews and critique mean SO much to me.

* * *

**Sundown**

* * *

When the food cart comes by for its fifth round, Ciel isn't even interested. He already knows how much of everything they have: nine different flavors of cola, five brands of iced tea, three types of alcoholic beverages, one brand of coffee (and not a particularly good one at that), raspberry and cashew granola bars, extremely salty trail-mix, and navy packets of ladyfingers.

He is so bored that he's spent the majority of time learning the names of most of the people in the area. The freckled kid behind him is named Jim, and his mother is named Martha. She has a temerarious boyfriend named Philip. There's an elderly man sitting in front of Ciel who snores loudly and likes those disgusting granola bars. He's also a drunk. As is his son who has downed about five bottles of Bud Light and two whole packets of Trident gum within the past seven hours.

The row of three across from the old man are friends that are going to Las Vegas for some fashion event. They're obsessed with cartoons, Tumblr, and Facebook.

For the many hours he's been on the flight, he's gone from finishing the first Sherlock Holmes book, to looking out the window at one of the Missouri lakes, to playing Bach on his iPod, to eating through one pack of ladyfingers and downing one cup of bitter and stale-tasting coffee as a makeshift breakfast.

There are movies that play on the flight– most, though, are boring family ones that have no analytical or stimulating plots.

At 3:36, he remembers turning over and talking with Sebastian– conversations about how the photoshoot will play out and where it will take place.

But now, he's bored again. He wants a change of scenery, and the only place he can get that is in the bathroom or in his dreams. However, he's already killed two (out of the ten) hours of the flight by sleeping, and he isn't tired anymore.

_'This could all be resolved if I had a game to play on my phone,'_ he thinks, and out of the corner of his eye, he spots Francis. For the past four hours, she's been reading through the books that she brought– law and order books and makeup and nutritional books. Never once has she looked up at the snack cart woman, and never once has she gotten up to go to the bathroom. At least... Ciel doesn't remember if she did. She might have while he was sleeping...

She looks like a stone carving with her head down, and her pale, slender fingers paused on the page and hardback cover. Her face doesn't change expression at all, and the only movements are her breathing, her blinking, and her hands when she turns the page.

He is very much reminded of a gargoyle or some other kind of creature when he looks at Francis Midford. Her eyes are always piercing, even when she's just reading. She always has a biting stare, even when there's nothing to be angry about. She seems to be permanently in a cold mood, even when she's just doing the day-to-day activities.

Ciel remembers this very well when she took his phone not too long ago. And this brings him back to his boredom. If he had his phone, he would've played tons of games by now. He might've beat that newest one he had downloaded Saturday evening, and then he would've started that new German one that he had planned on purchasing.

Instead, he was stuck listening to the loud drunken laughter and the gum-smacking of the pair in front of him. _Delightful._

That's not to say that he didn't _think_ of trying. In fact, it was during the fifth hour of the flight that Ciel considered asking for his phone back. But he had quickly decided against it; that would be suicide.

There is nothing left to do but begin reading again. With a mostly inaudible sigh, Ciel takes out the scarlet book, flips past the title page and table of contents, and apathetically stares down at the first page.

_Sherlock Holmes took his bottle from the corner of the mantel-piece and his hypodermic syringe from its neat morocco case–_

"Ciel."

The boy glances over towards his agent. Normally, he's irritated when someone interrupts him while reading, but right now, an interruption doesn't sound bad at all. He moves away the fist that is propping up his chin.

"I would have told you earlier, but you had fallen asleep," Sebastian smiles at him as usual, and for a second, Ciel gets sucked into that gaze. Why is Sebastian always so buoyant? Always smiling and being in such a pleasant mood? He'd probably even have that face if the plane was crashing. He'd smile and go to the pilot and offer to help in some way. Yes. That sounds about right. Sebastian is always calm, always agreeable and always seemingly optimistic. He never panics, never raises his voice, never wishes the worst on others. At least, that's what he makes himself out to be. But Ciel knows better. Anyone that just takes things as they look is dense. Everything is _beneath_ the surface, tucked away in obscurity. Everything.

"What?" Ciel grumbles, shifting so he's looking into Sebastian's face.

"My phone number– I bought a new phone and I've changed the number." Sebastian produces a nice, sleek, black iPhone. The finish is completely clear, while the screen is devoid of any irksome fingerprints or scratches. It reminds Ciel of his own iPhone, though his model is older whereas Sebastian has the newest one. Ciel regards it with slight interest for a while before he notices a cellphone charm on the end. A charm of a black cat.

_'Figures.'_

"If you have a pencil available I'd like to give you my–"

The intercom crackles at that minute and everyone's told to buckle their seat belts.

Ciel starts for a moment, then straightens out. He feels around for his own seat belt that he had removed while attempting to offer a dropped handheld game to the freckled boy behind him. When he finds it, it just so happens that he hears another loud clacking noise against the end of his chair, and turns around to glance at the freckled boy.

The same freckled boy, brown eyes wide and nervous, utters, "I'm sorry, I lost my game again."

Ciel spies the brightly-colored device a few inches into the aisle, and just as he's about to reach for it, he's stopped by Sebastian.

"Please, allow me."

Sebastian reaches over and collects the game while Ciel buckles back in his seat belt. The plane is touching down very soon, and he can see that they've lowered their altitude slightly. As he begins to gather his things in his arms, he hears a shrill whisper of his name from across the aisle.

It's Alois.

The boy is smiling cheekily at him, waving a small wave. Ciel can feel his body tense as he glares right through him, then grits back, "What?"

"Did you get enough sleep? You napped for quite a few hours, Sleeping Beauty."

"What's your point?"

"Nothing. It's just that you were the one blathering about being dignified and holding up a good image."

"Again, what's your point?"

"You didn't seem to be holding up a good, dignified image, drooling on yourself and all."

Ciel can feel his cheeks growing hot, though whether it's from anger or embarrassment he doesn't care to know. He feels almost sickened, watching Alois' smile widen and his blue eyes squint in delight. He wants to vomit at that sight.

He can't stand that face.

So he doesn't look at it for long. Instead, he finishes gathering up his belongings and glares straight ahead until they're released from the plane.

* * *

By the time they land for the last time in Las Vegas, Nevada, Alois can't help but feel the utmost excitement. Sure, the whole news about leaving the country was thrilling, and then there was that ten hour flight, and the layover, but now they are actually _there_.

He walks off of the plane and stretches. He relishes the sound of his stiff muscles as they pop and crackle. His fingers reach out towards the ceiling, they flex, then close together, then flex again, until Alois feels the last burst of extra energy drain away. Then he yawns and glances around at the huge airport.

Tiled floors, rushing bodies, colorful digital lights– it looks mostly like the London Heathrow Airport. He turns towards Claude.

"Well, what now?"

"We go through immigration."

The five of them trek to immigration, each person gripping their passports and other papers they might need. There's a large sign displayed on the wall in front of the immigration booths that exclaims, "Welcome to America" in red, white, and blue letters. Alois smirks inwardly. He loves that sign. He's over 1,000 miles away from home. One-thousand miles! And Las Vegas, almost like a mini New York, is right outside the airport doors.

Every one shuffles into line behind a group of gabby tourists. And Alois watches as Sebastian smiles, veering off to side and says, "Mrs. Midford, please go in front of me; lady's first." The bulldog woman steps forward and mutters something under her tongue that Alois can't make out.

Ciel's agent is so debonair, charming and gentlemanly. He looks like a model but acts like a butler. What a strange combination, but it seems to describe Sebastian well. He seems like the type that's very structured, probably the type that has a sock drawer organized by colors, Alois thinks and laughs inwardly. He's what some call the 'cool type.' He'll drink coffee in the mornings and use big, complicated words, yet he probably spends hours on Twitter and wears the coolest brands of shoes.

Yeah, that seems like him. Totally genteel and courteous on the outside, but when he's alone, he's probably the coolest person you'd ever meet.

Or maybe Alois' perceptions are totally off. He's never a good judge on outwards appearances. He doesn't even know how to describe himself.

He turns his gaze back to Sebastian and Sebastian looks right at him.

"Mr. Trancy, Mr. Claude, please, would you go ahead of me as well?"

Alois glances at Claude, as if only Claude can answer. But Claude just shakes his head and responds, "No. We'll stay where we are."

They shuffle through the line until they meet the lady at the desk. She looks like she's having a bad day (and sounds like it, too) but she just asks the necessary questions, looks at their passports, then directs them to baggage claims.

Claude leads the way there, and as they watch the conveyor belt twirl round and round, Alois can't help but feel pleased. It's nice to see Claude leading instead of falling into place behind Sebastian. So, he smiles, and glances around at the conveyor belt, waiting for his plum-colored trunk to show up.

Out of the corner of his eye, he can hear Ciel's voice. He's talking with that bulldog woman about calling a cab.

_'Whatever'_, Alois thinks. _'I don't mind walking.' _And it's true, because Alois hasn't moved his legs for hours –minus the hour layover– and he would rather walk or run all over Las Vegas. He shifts the weight from one leg to the other as he turns his head away from Ciel and back onto the conveyor belt. And he notices something interesting.

A black shoulder bag wrapped with a baggage tag. It looks familiar.

Alois takes a step forward, crouches over, and inspects the tag.

_To: Las Vegas, Nevada 5:45 PM_

_From: London, England 5:22 AM _

_Name: Sebastian Michaelis_

Additionally, the man's address is labeled on the front.

He unzips one of pockets, the one on the front, and reaches through it. There's nothing much in the front pocket– just a few books and sheets of paper. When Alois retracts, in his hand he holds a daily planner with a bunch of kittens on the front cover.

_'So he's a cat lover? What a weirdo.'_

Alois reaches his hand back inside, finds another book– one without any words on the cover. It's crimson in color, and when Alois opens it, his eyes are met with a nice scrawl of cursive handwriting and the words: _Last seen on July 15– 4:30, England. Phantomhive... _

He doesn't read anymore because he hears footsteps coming. So he quickly unzips and shoves the book back into the shoulder bag. And as soon as he straightens up, he notices his trunk rotating around the conveyer belt, so he goes towards it and picks it up. The footsteps halt directly behind him.

"We're going to call a cab." It's Ciel, and Alois is slightly surprised he's talking to him. Ciel's seems like the type that doesn't hold a grudge over petty things like being called "Sleeping Beauty." He's beginning to form a picture in Alois' mind. He's shrewd, sophisticated, and often grouchy. He's extremely confidential (Alois can't help but want to rip that eyepatch off) and secretive; he's mature, stable, industrious, focused, laconic, like Claude.

He finds Ciel shooting him a jaundiced eye, narrowed and as cold as ice.

"Did you hear me?" he repeats. There's that lingering sternness in his voice. "I said we're going to call a cab."

"Yeah, I heard," Alois replies, turning around. "I heard you the first time."

Ciel turns to the side and Alois notices that glacial eye scrutinizing him. Ciel's eagle-eyed– Alois adds that to the ongoing list of adjectives. He also thinks that 'reserved' might be another good one, so he adds that to the list, too. He tries to decide if Ciel can or cannot be considered impolite, but Ciel interrupts, slicing his train of thought in half.

"You were spacing out. Do you have all your things?"

"Yes."

"Then let's go."

Before Ciel can leave, Alois snags his sleeve and points in one direction. "There's less people blocking this exit." Ciel shoves his hand away, but obliges. They both walk a short distance, away from the baggage claims, evading the currant of rushing businesspeople and cranky mothers. Eventually, they reach the exit. Alois is right, this one, unlike the others, is not too crowded. The people are ushering in and out like clockwork. Alois' relieved; he hates waiting.

Once they push open the doors, humidity claims them. It's sundown, and the temperature is much higher than it had been in England. It feels around 29˚C, maybe 30. Right in front of the airport are the busy Las Vegas streets– most cars possibly packed with workers trying to rush home or trying to rush to a bar.

Honking horns, raucous laugher, and screeching tires are all part of the soundtrack to the amazing scene of blinking lights against a twilight sky that rolls out in front of them. Alois stares at it all in wonder; Ciel couldn't be more bored.

Walking down the sidewalks in the opposing direction of traffic, the airport eventually becomes a backdrop. Ciel walks in fast, persistent steps, always moving forward and lingering in an area for no more than a second. He's probably trying to find the nearest sign, probably eager to escape the inevitable and oncoming disarray that comes with nightlife.

Alois keeps up as best he can, until he realizes his bag is slipping. He hoists it up higher upon his shoulder. It's heavy– how did he not notice it before? Oh, wait, yeah, Claude was holding it earlier. Wait...

"Where are they?" Evidentially, Ciel is thinking the same thing as Alois, but he just gets to voice his thoughts first. "Where did they go?" Ciel glances back and forth, his eye follows a cab as it surges down the street before disappearing into the sea of cars up ahead.

"Don't tell me..." he trails off, narrowing his eye. "They left without us?"

Alois' not sure if he should be excited or startled by that, but he chooses, for a moment, to be startled. "Oh? They already left?"

"I'm not sure."

"How long ago did you decide to call for the cab?"

"Five minutes ago, more or less," Ciel tacks the last part at the end as an afterthought. "How did they not realize we weren't in the car?" Ciel sounds distressed– his voice isn't exactly a whiny-distressed, though; it's more on the verge of an exasperated-distressed. Alois _forces_ his smile to stay down, but he can't help but enjoy this. There's a bubbling in his stomach, a warm glow that ebbs throughout his abdomen as he beholds Ciel grumbling in frustration. It's funny, evidently, to see Ciel pissed-off. So funny that his laughter almost tumbles out of mouth. Almost.

He watches as Ciel sighs once more and then turns his eyes towards _him_.

"We'll walk a bit further and see if we can find them."

* * *

They walk for a while longer with Ciel eyeing each cab with quick but thorough glances only to produce the same results– the faces of strangers. The airport is nothing but a distant memory at this point, as they've walked so far they've changed streets three times.

By this time, Ciel has lost track of time– whether five minutes or fifteen have passed, he's not sure, and he's not the type to wear wristwatches, either. As they both walk, Ciel in front with Alois trailing behind, Ciel regards every face he can. Still to no avail.

"Well, what a waste of time," he mutters, and pauses for a moment. At that moment, a lady clad in black leather hastens nearer, cellphone in hand, cigarette in mouth, glass of beer between her fingers. And Ciel remembers his _phone_.

The one he doesn't have. The one that was confiscated as his punishment. The one he needs, right now.

"Hey," Alois' voice breaks his pattern of thought. "Why'd you stop? The street's going to be crawling with boozehounds; if you don't want to be in the middle of it, start walking–"

"Do you have a cellphone?"

Alois seems to be taken aback by Ciel actually asking something of _him_, but Ciel disregards it. If they're going to get anywhere, he needs to use what resources he has. Even if he has to ask Alois Trancy.

"Yeah."

Ciel reaches out a hand for it. "Give it to me."

"Wha–?"

"I'm going to call Sebastian."

Ciel watches as Alois recoils, cradling the tiny white phone. "I'll do it."

"Just let me, you don't know the number."

"Then tell me the number and I'll put it in."

Ciel advances and grasps the phone, but he realizes Alois doesn't let go so easily: he tugs back harder, almost causing Ciel to bumble forward. With his grip slightly diminished but not nearly relinquished, Ciel yanks back, and it turns into a mini tug-of-war.

Alois certainly is strong, Ciel notices, but his disadvantage is the heavy bag weighing down upon his shoulder. Ciel yanks a bit harder, and flashes Alois a glower. And just as Alois almost loses his grip on the phone entirely, Ciel feels a rough thud against his back, and he's taken off-guard. He lunges forward, losing his balance on the ground as well as on the phone, and he watches the device fly out of both their hands, soar upwards a few inches, and take a dive into a nearby storm drain.

Ciel catches his balance and immediately jerks around to see the same black-leather-jacket smoker swaying and laughing, waving her arm in the air before she turns around and slurs with alcoholic breath, "Sorry, _hunnnn_."

Ciel doesn't accept her apology.

Instead, he turns back around to see Alois glaring down the drainage well on hands in knees. Ciel notices he's very much in the street, but if Alois doesn't care for his own safety, Ciel doesn't either. He's been nothing but trouble, anyway.

"This is all _your_ fault," Alois scathes, his voice like verbal acid. The eyes that once gleamed with impudence and arrogance have been polished into an irate glower. But Ciel is fine with that, in fact, it's _perfect_. Maybe this new-found rage will alter him enough to be serious about what's actually going on. Or not.

"If you had just let me do it, this wouldn't have happened." Ciel makes his voice sound cool. "Now look– your own foolishness caused this to happen."

"_Me_? You really are a bloody joke, aren't you? I wasn't the one that got rammed in the back and stumbled over my own two feet!"

"Arguing about this isn't doing anything for our current situation. The phone's gone and it's almost night." Ciel shoots a glance at the darkened sky painted in orange and dark blue. Traffic, in some areas, has picked up, and then in others it hasn't. He can hear booming trance music spilling through the doors of clubs. Soon the streets will be filled with partygoers and drunkards, police men and reckless teenagers. Finding shelter is top priority.

"The phone's gone for good; just forget about it. We'll just find another place that has a phone. Then we can call–"Ciel pauses, and realization hits him hard.

He didn't even get Sebastian's number. Their earlier conversation had been interrupted by the plane's intercom and he had gotten distracted and Sebastian hadn't gotten to finish. No number, no one to call, no use for a phone.

"'Then we can call' _who_?" Alois barks back, ripping Ciel away from his thoughts, and Ciel hates it when Alois does that. Ciel places a finger underneath his lips as he tries to remember the name of the hotel they were going to stay at.

"Nevermind. We're going to go find a hotel," Ciel says instead, and glances around the dark streets for a cab. It seems a bit late, but he knows that in a city that operates exclusively in the night, there should be a few patrolling around. He waves one of the cabs cruising down the street, and watches the car ease to a stop.

Alois takes a step forward, having finally removed himself from the street. "Where are we going?"

"The hotel."

"What hotel?"

Ciel gives Alois a once-over. It surprises him that Alois was so shut out of the trip's plans. First he arrives practically late to the airport, and at that moment, Ciel's surprised he hadn't even heard about their arrangements.

"Just get into the cab, I'll tell you on the way." Ciel opens the door and slips in first, and he notices Alois, after lingering for a moment with a look that can only be described as perplexity, steps forward and slides in beside him.

The cab driver eyes them suspiciously, probably wondering why two teenagers are wandering around Las Vegas alone at the nighttime hour. Ciel gets himself situated as he eyes him back. And frankly, Ciel finds that man much stranger. He's wearing casual clothing. _Casual, dirty clothing_, Ciel corrects himself as he takes in the sight of either a coffee, chocolate, or pizza stain lining the man's white cotton lapels and collar.

The inside of the cab reeks of cigarette smoke, pungent ale, and, for some strange reason, bananas. The man is holding a cigarette between his two stubby, ash-covered fingers, and Ciel notices the ale bottle not too far away. It's half-empty, the ring of the bottle glistens with saliva.

His face is quite scraggly, half-shaven with messy bangs sprinkled with dandruff. And his eyes look droopy and half-lidded.

He looks drunk.

Ciel takes a quick glance at his name tag, just to be sure that he really is an employee. It's marked with the words Timothy.

And the tag is pinned upside-down.

In addition to that, he's wearing a shiny flat cap with the words 'Las Vegas Cab' printed on the fabric half of the front.

Ciel instantly feels uncomfortable. He watches the ale bottle wearily before asking, "Are you drinking?"

"Nah," the man picks up the bottle and waggles it back and forth like a pendulum, liquid sloshing and bubbling. "This is diet coke. I just put it in my favorite ale bottle."

His hiccup isn't reassuring.

"This car smells like alcohol."

"That's my cologne." The man replaces the bottle after he takes another swag of it and gulps audibly. Then he reaches up to fix his cap and straighten out in the chair before he cranes his neck back to look at them.

"Where to, boys?" His words slur.

"The Wynn Hotel," Ciel begins, eyeing the door. "3121 Las Vegas Boulevard."

"I know, kid, I've got a GPS. I've been in this business for..." the man pauses to count on his fingers. "Fifteen years. Or maybe... thirteen, whichever."

"How many miles does it take to get there?" Alois asks, shifting in his seat. He has his palm planted underneath his chin and he's gazing out at the window sourly. Ciel wonders if Alois' noticed the driver's odd behavior.

But Ciel reconsiders. _'He couldn't. He's probably still upset about the phone.' _

Timothy taps his hand against the GPS. "Thirteen minutes, 4.3 miles."

Ciel responds back fast. "Cost?"

"$20.13," he says. "And don't forget the tip– it's 15%." Timothy's eyes roll up into the back of his skull for a moment. "$23.15 should be your total."

"Alright," Ciel responds, relaxing against the cushion. "Go on."

Timothy snorts, wipes his nose and starts up the engine again. He eases off down the street. He's going only fifteen miles per hour. Before they can move very far, they stop at a red light.

Timothy takes another swag from the bottle and picks up his lighter before glancing in the rearview mirror.

"You mind if I smoke?"

Ciel's appalled to say the least– that a cab driver _would_ smoke in the car.

"Yes."

The man chuckles a bit over whatever Ciel's not sure, but he drops the lighter and begins fumbling around in the glove compartment for a bit. His fingers continuously scrabble with the handle before the compartment pops open, spilling maps, packs of Marlboro, ties, Starbucks coffee cups, and even the man's underwear.

"Ahh, crap." He shoves aside the plastic cups and lids before giving up on whatever he was looking for. "Hey, pirate-boy, what was the zip code to the Win again?"

"The _Wynn_. Besides, I thought you said you knew the directions?"

"I do. I just need the zip, blasted GPS won't work without knowing the zip."

"But I thought you said you _knew_."

"C'mon, eyepatch, just give me the digits."

With a sigh, Ciel decides it's virtually useless to argue. Not only that, but the light will be turning green soon and it's better to know the address _before_ the meter starts tallying up. "89109," he replies quietly. Timothy inputs the number, and there's the ding and a voice that says, "Route to Destination found."

The light changes green and the car actually speeds up from fifteen miles per hour to a casual twenty-three miles per hour. As they pass the sidewalks filled with colorful bystanders and pedestrians, Ciel hears Timothy clear his throat and shoot a glance up at the mirror at him.

"You're going to quite a ritzy place, aren't you? You kiddies got money?"

The thought of being mugged by an unkempt cab-driver enters Ciel's head. "Not as much as you may think," he retorts, and the man guffaws hoarsely. At that point, Ciel actually smells the diet coke lacing his breath.

"And those accents. You from Britain?"

"Yes."

"You posh people must think of us Americans dopes, don't ya?"

"Not necessarily," Ciel responds.

"And do you guys really sit around and drink tea all day in your castles?"

"Not all day. ...And I don't live in a castle."

The man guffaws hoarsely again. "Well, I guess not, Buccaneer."

_Please stop with the pirate jokes. _Ciel cringes inwardly. Fortunately for him, the man does quiet down and continues the rest of the trip in silence. For Ciel, he's already planning what to do when they get to the Wynn. They'll get their room keys and once they reach their rooms, Sebastian, Francis, and Alois' agent will all be there waiting. Yes, that sounds about right. They'll go for dinner, come back, Ciel will get a nice bath, and then, they'll go to sleep and wake up in the morning for the photoshoot. Yes, that sounds good.

Lights begin to flicker across Ciel's face. The sky is completely dark now, making the lights from beyond more visible. Ciel refocuses his attention on the street and his surroundings.

"Hey, Jack Sparrow, your stop is coming up on the right."

The sign for the Wynn hotel appears, and Ciel's whole existence lets out an exhale. Never has he been so happy to see a building and to get their in one piece. When the car stops, Ciel begins to turn to Alois to ask if he has any money, but decides not to start. It'll just explode into an argument anyway, and Ciel _really_ wants to leave. So he just pays the tab, thanks the man and stumbles out of the cab with his luggage. Alois follows behind.

The man drives off after giving them a tip of his cab, and as soon as he's off down the street, Alois makes a disgusted face.

"What kind of sick person keeps their boxers in their glove compartment?"

Instead of answering, Ciel tugs on the handle of his luggage case and hauls it off toward the front entrance. Again, Alois follows behind, like a child with its parent, and it might as well be just that, since Alois has the attitude of a toddler.

Once they enter, Ciel stomps right over to the desk and inputs his name.

"Ahh, sorry, Sir, but there's no one by that name here. But there are other rooms available, would you like me to give you a room for tonight?"

Ciel's stumped and it's as if all the air has been knocked out of him. Wait, wait, wait. He's sure, no, _positive_, that the Wynn hotel was the one that was booked. There shouldn't have been a mistake. Unless... he really hadn't booked the Wynn and there was some other hotel instead.

He tries again. "Are you sure my name, Phantomhive, P-h-a-n-t-o-m-h-i-v-e, isn't in the system?"

She types the name in again before offering him a wrinkled frown. "Sorry, Sir, no one by that name booked a room."

Ciel slaps a hand to his forehead. "Alright, then can we just book a room?"

"Just for tonight, Sir?"

"Yes."

He's actually quite surprised she's not questioning his age, but at this point, he _really_ doesn't care. He just wants a room and a bed to sleep in.

"Alright, you're all settled. Check-out is tomorrow at 8:00." She offers him two keys, as she spots Alois in the distance (even though Ciel tries and fails to explain that they aren't here together) and waves them off. "Please enjoy your stay."

Ciel rolls over toward Alois with his luggage and practically shoves the other key into his hands. Frankly, he doesn't trust him with it, but if something happens and Ciel loses his key, at least they can rely on that one.

"Okay, the next matter of business," Ciel begins but Alois just coughs irritatedly.

"'Business'? Seriously? Stop being so fancy."

"The next matter of business," Ciel continues with gritted teeth, "is... dinner."


End file.
